


Whiskey, Cigars and Rejects

by DepressionRae



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Daud's an asshole but the whalers more or less worship him, Finnian (oc) is a deeply flawed nobleman but he's trying to stay out of the way, M/M, Multi, OC centric, Slackjaw deserves better, Slackjaw isn't weak for a pretty face but has a threat/fear kink?, Suggestive Themes, a dumb feral himbo that is deeply loved, corvo has a shadow and wants to adopt him, corvo is a himbo, this is trash lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27226120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DepressionRae/pseuds/DepressionRae
Summary: Red Fin may be noble by birth, but he plays a dangerous game of cat and mouse with some of Dunwall's most powerful players; and he's winning.OC centric, just follows a man named Finnian who does some sketchy business and stays out of Corvo's war path by being a bit slutty and a lot violent.Rated for strong language and suggestive adult themes. Rating may change.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/The Outsider (Dishonored), Daud (Dishonored)/Original Male Character(s), Slackjaw (Dishonored)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Whiskey, Cigars and Rejects

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little self indulgent thing, focused mainly on sideline characters interacting with my Dishonored OC, Finnian "Red Fin" Cartassy, a little runaway noble who somehow hasn't been arrested or killed yet.

Nobody knew how Finnian Cartassy managed to survive on the streets during the rat plague. The city guards would scoff and _claim_ it was just luck; he was a nobleman, barely twenty-something, living on the streets and, really, what did a _nanny-raised_ boy know about street smarts and fighting? The Overseers would simply shake their heads and mutter something about _heathens_ and _hearsay_ , or give vague, somewhat threatening answers about not being nosy and bothering them with unimportant questions. _Nobody_ came back from asking the Whalers. _Ever_. And asking the boy outright only got a confused glance and nervous laughter and flustered gestures before he slipped off to a dark, cold hiding place.

As for _Slackjaw_ \- and most of his gang of criminals and thugs - he didn't care, nor did he ever ask. The skinny redhead could _keep_ his secrets. The crime boss would rather have his time, and those nimble, spider-like hands that could soothe his aching back or bring him to his knees in seconds. The rest of the gang simply enjoyed being alive too much to bother asking stupid questions.

"Red Fin" was an enigma, a largely unknown boy with an obsession for heights and control, nervous as a bird in small talk but steadfast and scarily calm in everything else. Not even a gun in his face made him flinch. His voice remained cold and his words were specific and each one chosen to have the most effective impact on his victims. He moved silently, not unlike a cat hunting a mouse, except that the mice he stalked were grown men with deep pockets who would whimper and beg him not to ruin their lives once he chose to pounce. Slackjaw liked that part of the boy, too. He liked that that sweet, deceptive smile and warm gaze hid a sneaky little bastard that could take control of an entire room just by walking in.

Like he did just a few minutes prior, having stepped into the distillery with a predatory smirk that caused his men to choke on their whiskey, cut off their conversations and run to complete chores - lest they spur the redhead's cruel ire.

Slackjaw himself didn't move, unafraid and mostly amused, leaning in the doorway to the distillery while watching Finnian stalk across the yard. His red hair stood out against the dull background, as blatant and obvious as a swarm of rats in a spotlight, but the crime boss was privy to the knowledge that the bright crimson color did nothing to deter the boy during his outings. After all, no one could see his hair from beneath the hood and mask he used. And not few survived seeing him without his jade mask.

"You're in my way." The boy's voice still sounded high pitched and shaky, betraying his young age, but his words were spat with malice dripping from every letter, and the only thing that revealed how nervous he was to be within arms reach of Slackjaw was the shiver at the tail end of his cold greeting. He had never been hurt by the crime boss, not without having wanted it first, but he feared the older man's strike all the same. Fear was what had kept him alive in the few years he'd lived among thieves and murderers, and he wasn't about to throw it the wind just because someone spoke sweetly to him or held him on rough nights.

"So I _am_." Slackjaw took a long drag from the cigar in his hand, eyeing the dark circles beneath Finnian's mismatched eyes. Must have been a rough night out on the town. No injuries, so he hadn't chosen to get into a fight with anyone. Perhaps the Whalers gave him a hard time again? Still, he enjoyed this little game of cat and mouse they had, and questions wouldn't be answered even if he put words to them. "Are ya gonna do somethin' 'bout it, Red?"

"Slackjaw." The boy stepped closer, bringing up ice cold hands to curl loosely against the crime boss's chest, spurring a small, almost non existent grimace from the older man. The sultry drag of fingers down his chest made the goosebumps and prickly skin worth it. "Must I... _convince_ you to move?"

"I wouldn't complain if ya did."

"Well then..." Finnian leaned closer, lowering his voice into a more husky, lilting whisper, "If you don't move I'm going to break both of your knees and leave you writhing in agony on the floor."

"That's very good reason to move, Red." He was getting better at this threatening thing, but Slackjaw still didn't move, choosing instead to blow smoke into Finnian's face. He knew the boy wouldn't hurt him. Not when he needed him for a hot meal and a warm bed not infested with maggots or rats.

Finnian huffed, stepping away and letting his hands drop to his sides. Frustration bled off his tense shoulders like rats from a vent. Somehow, he looked more fatigued then when he had arrived, if that was even possible. But he was young and often bounced back from these moments faster than most hardened men he knew. There was no reason to be worried. Still, when the boy crossed his arms over his narrow chest and didn't meet Slackjaw's eyes, the crime boss couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern. Finnian didn't give up their little game so easily. Not unless something really shook him while he was away from the distillery.

"I'm _exhausted_ , Slackjaw. Just give it a rest and let me by, before I lose my grip on reality and just stab you." After a moment of carefully regarding the former noble, he stepped back and let him walk through the door. When he did, he finally caught sight of singe marks on the edge of that black hood, and the carved bone on his belt that seemed to hum with energy.

He knew better than to ask about it, he would never get a straight answer about what his Red got up to on the nights he didn't come home to Slackjaw.

* * *

"Do you ever think you're in the wrong profession?"

The question, though unexpected, did not startle Finnian off of his rather high perch. He only glanced over his shoulder at an approaching Whaler, then returned to watching the streets far below them. He had heard them climbing to his perch long before they'd likely spotted him. He knew for a fact there was at least two others that weren't quite so ballsy to strike up a conversation with him. These guys were only quiet or badass when they needed to be. It wasn't like there were any guards here, anyway. The building he was on had long been boarded up, even before the plague, but there were footholds and pipes and vents everywhere, it was fairly easy to climb to the roof from the ground floor. There had been an open window on the third floor, but the smell had been ghastly enough that he only stepped in to swipe some coins and a cigar box off the nearest surface and left immediately after.

Now he was seated on a crumbling chimney with an assassin peering up at him. What an odd life he led.

"What do you mean?" Finnian didn't bother to look at the other man when he spoke to him, instead digging gloved fingers into the spaces between the brick beneath his feet. He hated small talk.

"Well, I mean, have you ever thought of joining us?" There was no room on the chimney for the Whaler to join him, but he he come just below the masked redhead, looking down at the street too. "I watched you scale this building. Even though I used my own abilities to get up here, all you used was your own body. Not even a rope. You're good. We could use someone like you."

"That's not that impressive. Anyone can climb without magic or tools." He was being deliberately cold and dismissive, all too used to these sort of conversations. "And I see no reason to anchor myself to one group when I can have a foothold in all of them."

"I'm just saying. Wouldn't it be nice to have a group support you and watch your back?"

"I don't need anyone to watch my back, and I have my own support network."

"Do you mean the Bottle Street gang? They can't even keep up with you half the time! And that Slackjaw...I'd work for Daud any day over that scumbag."

Finnian turned a cold glare at the Whaler, who didn't seem to realize how badly he had just messed up. He knew he shouldn't care about what people said about the crime boss, but the older man had offered him a hot meal more than once, a bedmate when he was in the mood, gave him free vials of elixir and guarded him when he found the time to actually sleep. He didn't like the way this stranger spoke about him.

"You should adopt a more silent approach. You'll live longer." Was all he said, choosing to shove down the cold anger and bile that churned in his stomach. As much as he wanted to, killing a Whaler wouldn't end well and he risked his reputation - and his fragile peace with other groups - if he publicly defended Slackjaw.

At least the idiot below him had the good sense to shut up. Finnian settled back on his heels and regarded the other masked man, mouth twisted into a scowl beneath the cool jade of his mask. He didn't know much about the Whalers, maybe more than the common man, but not nearly enough to consider them anything but a distant threat. Maybe potential allies if things went to shit elsewhere. The ones he met were never keen on attacking him, instead avoiding him by using their void-given gifts to go where he couldn't follow. Or perhaps they were hoping he would follow, give them a good chase, maybe give them motive to kill him.

It at least told him that the city guard weren't the only ones cautious enough to regard him in a dangerous light.

Finnian could use that. For now.

* * *

Waking up in a cold bed wasn't unusual, even when he stayed with Slackjaw. Waking up to a cold bed with pieces of the floor floating around him was most definitely unusual. Finnian sat up slowly, unsure of his new surroundings. Through the new holes in the wall and floor, he could see into a deep, yawning darkness that had no end. More things floating outside, chunks of ground and frozen snapshots of both the past and the present. He could've sworn he heard the distant, mournful song of a whale, too. The air even smelled like saltwater, blood and sulfur.

This must be the void.

He had heard people talk about it in varying tones and with varying opinions. Most feared it. Some hated what lurked within. And some reveled in the sin and despair that came from it's master.

Finnian himself hadn't spared much thought for it, though now he knew his ignorance had been a mistake. If only he had deigned to do more research into the black eyed Outsider, maybe he wouldn't be sitting in his domain, waiting for a gruesome death. Though he wasn't dead yet, so maybe that was a good thing. The redhead swung his legs out from under the rough blankets, though they felt much softer and lighter then when he had gone to bed. Interesting. Once on his feet, he realized he was being watched, someone's gaze burning a hole right through him.

It wasn't hard to spot his stalker once he moved further away from his bed. The Outsider lurked just past the destroyed walls of the room he had slept in, fixing the redhead with a dark, guarded stare.

"I won't take your mark." Finnian dared to step closer, not giving the bastard a chance to ask him, glaring back at the being before him. "I won't use cheap methods to get what I want."

"I know." Was the simple reply, uttered by a nearly monotone, cold voice that slithered down his spine and sent a spike of dread straight through his trapped target. He should have felt compelled to flee, and instead he was moving closer. Closer to those dark eyes and pale, unmoving body.

"Then why bring me here?"

"You're interesting. I've watched your antics, watched you dodge and evade and dig yourself deep into the rotten core of Dunwall." He waved a hand, almost dismissively, turning his cold gaze away from Finnian. He continued in a clipped tone, as if in a hurry himself. "I find you fascinatingly difficult to figure out, and I...felt the need to warn you."

"Warn me?" Alright, so maybe he wasn't going to die yet, and this creature of divine foulness thought him interesting enough to warn... "What do you mean?"

"I'm about to do something that'll turn Dunwall inside out, Finnian Cartassy, and I want you to see it happen. And you want to keep your own ilk safe, I assume?"

"...what are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to give Dunwall the murderer it so desperately wants."


End file.
